


These are Sweet Times for Dreamers

by PoppycockIsMyProvince



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:33:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6787612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppycockIsMyProvince/pseuds/PoppycockIsMyProvince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joanna's plan to marry her twins to Oberyn and Elia goes through. Rhaegar ends up marrying Ashara Dayne instead. Everyone is happy; Ashara is a good queen-in-waiting and Rhaegar has his three heads of the dragon, Elia and Jaime are really well suited to each other, and even though Oberyn and Cersei's relationship started out rough, they have reached a mutual understanding.</p><p>Prompt from the Asoiaf kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These are Sweet Times for Dreamers

The gardens are alive with the sound of laughter; they’re alive with the high pitch sound of childish giggles and the thunder of small feet and playful jostling; they’re alive with the chimes of soft lady-like laughter and the gentle strumming of harps.

Edmure is chasing Willas and Willas is chasing Viserys; Viserys is watching Rhaenys and Rhaenys is stood by Visenya; dangling yards of red string before Balerion; shrieking and giggling and dancing out of the path of the black cat.

Ashara and Alerie and Rhaella look on in amusement; Rhaegar watches from above with a smile and cloudless eyes.

 

The gardens are alive with the sound of laughter; above the sun glows warms and bright; below the children are frolicking and the women are smiling.

Ser Barristan can almost ignore the smoke that begins to streak across the summer sky.

The only laughter here is gentle; the only swords are those that mark the side of the roses. The only iron and blood here is unseen and rushing safely within the confines of untouched bodies.

Ser Barristan can almost forget that he is still in the Red Keep.

                                                                                                                         --------------------

What mother wants, mother gets.

What Cersei wants, Cersei rarely gets.

Which would explain why she’s standing in the entrance way to The Great Sept in Lannisport.

_Great; but not The Great Sept of Baelor._

Beautiful and ornate; it’s _almost royal_ , but not truly royal.

What mother wants, mother gets.

What Cersei wants, Cersei rarely gets.

Which would explain why the robe being slung gracelessly across her shoulders is orange and gold.

Not red and black.

It would explain the uncustomary ice in her green eyes, and the looks of satisfaction being traded between the Lady Joanna and Princess Loreza.

It would explain why the silver prince's long-fingered hand is laying across the violet eyed woman’s protruding stomach; it would explain why the gaggle of children beside them are dark haired and not golden.

 But the lips that press against hers- yes, _press, not brush_ \- are chapped and red and almost brutish as they bite at hers. The brown eyes above her glint with challenge and Cersei finds herself biting back

Heat starts to melt the ice from her eyes and maybe, just maybe, dragons aren't the only ones capable of warmth.

                                                                                                                      ---------------------

He’s a babe

Well not truly, but near enough.

The pale face is still shrouded with the last fat of boyhood, and however smoothly those hands calloused hands may swing swords through the air, they’re not especially broad; not yet.

They’re not especially skilled; not in the sense she’d prefer for them to be.

Not yet.

But Elia finds herself thinking _soon._

Because the intelligence in those too sharp, too bright eyes is unmistakable.

The muscles that have begun to score his body are as clear as the Sunset sea.

And the maiden’s robe of orange and gold is half complete; ready to be worn and replaced with resplendent red and gold _soon._


End file.
